


The Captive

by johnsrevelation



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pinning, TW mental illness, Vaas is kept prisoner, a lot of injuries, canon violence, kind of "and they were roommates", tw drugs (a little)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28027335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsrevelation/pseuds/johnsrevelation
Summary: Vaas has done his share of keeping prisoners, but now it's his turn to be kept. She's infuriating and smart and decides on saving his life she's determined to also save his mind.
Relationships: Vaas Montenegro/Original Character(s), Vaas Montenegro/Original Female Character(s), Vaas Montenegro/Reader, Vaas Montenegro/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good day to you! I'm johnsrevelation (also on tumblr) and I like hot evil characters. This story is my attempt at redeeming Vaas, who I see as 100% unhinged, but evil probably because of that. The chapters have his and hers POVs and I hope I can do him justice. Please let me know what you think - if you're shy you can drop me an anon on tumblr :) Thank you for your attention to my fic, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> This is Jane: https://64.media.tumblr.com/b723e8272d817c21cd8a844f51e225d8/83e40f842218e688-bc/s2048x3072/86e18bb10f433c5fd7f9cf6d221f0d0f67c02c43.jpg

The cabin was dimly lit from within, every window, door and crack in the walls lovingly secured to banish the sunlight. There was no sound from outside, only the gentle whirring of the fan in the corner of the room.

Vaas sat on a chair in the middle of the floor, hands tied behind his back, feet tied to the chair’s legs. He was coming up from a deep fog of unconsciousness, a dull ache in the back of his head.

He opened his eyes, uncertain of his surroundings or anything beyond his own name.

He groaned.

There was movement if front of him.

_

She sat on the big leather couch, smoking and waiting. He was still out cold, but he groaned something incoherent a few times, so she expected him to wake any minute now.

She looked at Vaas in awe - beautiful, terrible man. He was so entirely broken, that she didn’t know what she wanted more - to tell him how much alike they were or to put him back together as best she could.

He shivered and moved his head. She didn’t bother sitting up for him - her legs were stretched out in front of her, one on top of the other, along the gaudy couch, her left arm draped along it’s back. She smoked.

“Uuugh,” He mumbled, “F-fuck…”

“Wakey wakey, ese,” She said softly.

He grunted again and lifted his head, trying to find the source of the voice.

_

At first he didn’t entirely understand what was happening. Where the fuck was he? Was he tied up? Is that a fucking woman smirking at him?

“What the fuck…” He tried to yell, but instead groaned and immediately scrunched his eyes shut, as a sharp pain filled his head, shooting behind his eyes.

“Careful, sweetheart, withdrawal’s a bitch. Plus I knocked you on the head pretty hard,” she took a long drag of her thin cigarette, “Sorry about that.”

His eyes still closed he took a few deep breaths and tried to speak softly.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Even in this state you can’t leave out the profanities, yes? Tisk, tisk.”

She stood up and moved to a coffee table between them, ground up her cigarette butt into the overflowing ashtray.

He followed her with his eyes as much as his blurry, painful vision would allow. She was lovely, but he didn’t know her. She was dressed in what seemed to be cotton pajamas, bare feet softly connecting with the wooden floor. He glimpsed a few tattoos all over her. She looked relaxed, not an ounce of stress or fear from such close proximity to him.

"Who are you?" He repeated, losing the swear this time, in hopes of getting answers quicker. Somehow, even through the dog of fearless insanity he knew not to antagonise her.

"I'm your new mistress," she said, leaning over the coffee table to look at him, smiling sweetly.

"The fuck do you…" he composed himself, " what do you mean? Untie me." 

He struggled against his bonds, at the same time thinking of how he'd react to the exact same request from one of his prisoners.

"Maybe later," she said, straightening up, "if you're good."

She walked to the back of the room where the walls faded into darkness and he couldn’t make anything out. He didn’t know what she was doing, until a rectangle of light didn’t appear in front of him and he winced.

She disappeared into it and after a minute of absence and faint clinking came back with a tray in her hands. There was a pitcher of water and two tall glasses, and Vaas at once felt how patched he was. A small bowl contained a few apple and orange slices. She put the tray on the coffee table.

“Water,” He said.

She looked at him.

“And the magic word?”

“I will gut you like a fish, hermana,” He said, eyes intense on hers. To his surprise she laughed.

“So much work ahead of me…” She mumbled, filling the glasses with water. She took one and put it to his lips. He was looking at her with searing hatred and astonishment, still unable to understand how this girl got a hold of him. What happened?

He drank greedily, tipping his face, trying not to spill even a drop.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of water,” she said, smiling at him, “Pace yourself.”

He gasped after draining the glass, a few drops sliding down his chin.

“More?” She asked.

He shook his head.

“Food.”

“In a minute, don’t want you to throw up. How are you feeling, any nausea?”

“What are you, a nun? What the fuck is happening, where am I?” He said rapidly, his ability to speak and think slowly returning after drinking.

“Don’t ask so many questions, you’re not in any position to call the shots, ese,” She said, settling back down on the couch, “And you should be thankful, for all intents and purposes you should be dead.”

Then he remembered. Jason, that chickenshit, shot him. He remembered the fight, the heat, the shot... The knife? And then - nothing. Darkness.

He looked at her, astonished.

“Starting to remember?”

He shook his head slowly, trying to ascertain at least something from her features. Citra's spy? But no, his sister wouldn’t leave him alive if she could have him dead.

He stared at her, trying to communicate as much of the hostility he felt through his gaze.

“Ok, you don’t remember. Should be expected. I knocked you out pretty good - again, sorry about that. I’ll get you some ice for the bump later.”

“So you gonna tell me what the fuck or what, chica?” He asked.

She only smiled, and her sweet expression infuriated him even more.

“Well, Jason Brody, our mutual friend, shot you pretty much point blank - and now everyone on the island thinks you’re dead. Quite touching really, they had a little ceremony for you and everything. “

“I don’t remember you on the list of merchandise,” he leered.

“Oh no, I wasn't in his initial party, if that’s what you mean. We met here on the island, while he was traipsing around thwarting your plans,” She chuckled, “You must hate it, not knowing who I am, yeah?”

“You have no fucking idea, chica. Enlighten me?” He said, trying to sound soft and persuasive. 

“Maybe later,” She repeated, “Now, for why you’re here - simply because I want you. I like you, Vaas, you intrigue me - the terrible human being that you are. I know you weren’t always like that, crazy with bloodlust. It’s the drugs, the abuse. I know a thing or two about such… demons." 

“What do you know about me, hermana? I never even saw you before.” He said, shifting in his bonds. His hands were starting to go numb.

“That’s what you think,” She smiled. 

That threw him a bit and he tried to rake his mind - did he see her before? Who the fuck was this chica, damn it?

She gestured towards him.

“You stiff?”

“Guess.” He said.

“Oh,” She sighed, “Such a troubled mind.”

She got up, took a few sips of water from her glass and neared him. She looked down on him, her eyes soft and curious and he felt naked - something that never before made him uncomfortable. What was it about her that made him so weak? He screamed at his inner self, reminding himself of the ropes, tightly coiled around him - that was the source of his discomfort, not her.

He observed her every move carefully, trying to see something that would allow him escape. Something, that would put her in this chair and him over her, laughing and taunting.

“Don’t even think about it, cabron,” She said sweetly, and pulled the waistband of her pajama bottoms ever so slightly down.

He was about to scream and laugh at her, ask five questions, but then he saw what she reached for - in the waistband of her underwear a tiny, heavy pistol.

She took it out and put it to his temple.

“I like you, Vaas. I want you to be my friend. And I will be your friend, but only if you behave. You might think of escape, you might think I’m just a dumb chica way in over her head and you will outsmart and gut me in an hour - but think twice on that, cabron. This little guy here,” She cocked the gun and pressed the barrel closer to his skin, “Can blow your brains out so far it’ll look like I painted my walls. Don’t think that because I want you here I will hesitate to kill you if you disobey me.”

He stared, hatred bubbling inside him.

“Is that clear?” She asked, inclining her head. Her face was serene and kind, and he again noted, with even more anger, that she was lovely.

She nodded slightly, prompting him.

“Yes,” He gritted out.

“Good boy,” She said.

She kept the gun trained on him while undoing the ropes around his hands. Vaas tried to track her movements, but he still couldn’t fathom how she untied what felt to be one hell of a noose with one hand.

When his hands were free and he could finally stretch his wrists she moved to stand in front of him.

“Untie your legs." She commanded.

He did as he was told, hus hands barely obeying, all the time mumbling.

"You're in for a fucking treat, hermana, I tell you that. You think you can fucking just boss me around…" 

"Spare me the commentary if you don't have anything intelligent to say, eh?" She said, unamused. He glared at her, trying to make her feel small.

He wasn’t tall, but he was well built and he knew his intimidation powers. She was only a little bit shorter than him, and smaller, and while he was able to frighten men twice his size into pissing themselves, she glared at him with unflinching superiority.

But the insanity and machismo wouldn’t let up easily. He looked at her, trying to seem as big as possible, and snarled:

“You don’t call the shots, hermana, no no. I will leave this fucking shack decorated with your fucking guts and go back to my business like nothing happened.”

He was going to say something else, but she laughed, that same easy sweetness on her face.

“You don’t call the shots anymore, cabron. You’re dead to the whole island. And if you think you can just show back up and they will all receive you with open arms - you’ve got another thing coming. The pirates are mostly dismantled, Jason is taking care of Hoyt - or so I hope. You have nowhere left to go.”

“You think I’ll be a fun houseguest, chica?” Vaas asked, stepping closer to her. She didn’t waver, nor did her gun.

“I think you need a shower,” She said, gesturing to a door behind them.

“Oh yes, yes, personal hygiene is very important to me,” He said, walking towards the bathroom. He stepped in and she clicked on the lights. 

He turned to face her.

“You gonna join me?” He asked.

“Not today,” She said, “Get in.”

“So you’re just watching today?” He asked, pulling his tank top off.

“I’m supervising,” She laughed, “Don’t worry, your modesty is safe, the curtain is opaque.”

“You don’t trust me to walk three feet across a room, but trust me to wash behind a curtain?” He asked, getting into the shower and taking off the rest of his clothes hidden by the plastic. He threw the pants and underwear over the railing, realising that most of his head was still visible to her.

“What are you gonna do, drown me with a shower head?”

“That’s actually a better idea, I should try that,” He nodded and turned the water on.

“Not if you want another hole in your body, cabron.”

There was nothing in the shower he could use as a weapon against her - not a bottle of shampoo, not a lufa, not a toothbrush. An absolutely bare, functional room. He could of course yank the curtain down and shove it down the puta's throat, but she’d shoot him first. He was angry, but also tired, shaky and intrigued.

“So what’s your name, chica?” He asked, looking at her sideways from under the water. She didn't take her eyes off him, just in case, modestly not looking even at the curtain.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, if I’m to be your friend we should probably know such things about each other no?” He thrust his head under the shower and ruffled his spiky hair, “I can of course always just call you “bitch”. You like that?”

“Not particularly. I’ll think about it.”

He scoffed and kept washing, scrubbing the dirt, blood and sweat off his skin. He could barely stand upright, but he summoned all of his strength to do it.

“What are you on?” She asked after a few moments of silence.

“Eh?”

“Drugs, what are you on?”

He laughed, his voice shrill in the tiny space.

“Oi, hermana…”

“Vaas, I’m not fucking around, tell me what you’re on,” She said, “Or your withdrawal is going to be very unpleasant. Right now you’ve got a headache from the blow to the head, and maybe nausea and achy bones - but that’s just a guess, since I don’t know what crap it is you’re addicted to. If I’m gonna deal with it you need to tell me.”

“Awww, you gonna deal with it for me? You gonna fucking fix me up?” He cooed, leering at her over the shower rail.

“I really wanna shoot you right now, and it’d be so easy. I wouldn’t even need to clean up the blood that much.”

He laughed again, throwing his head back, then tuning the water off and shaking like a dog. She threw him a towel that waited on the door knob.

“Ah, gracias, cariña,” He said earnestly, “My savior.”

He toweled off and pulled his dirty clothes back on. She still had the gun trained on him, gesturing with it slightly.

“Get back out there.” She commanded, “To your right.”

There was another door in the darkness, to which she led him.

“Open it, please.”

“So polite,” He teased.

“I’m hoping it will rub off on you,” She said, following him into the bedroom.

It was a simple room, with a comfortable double bed, enticing with fresh sheets, two plump pillows and a fluffy eiderdown. There were no windows or any other furniture, and Vaas knew this would be his cell.

“Get in bed, left side,” She said.

“Are you going to join me now?” Vaas asked, turning to face her with a smug grin.

“On the bed,” She repeated, smiling easily.

He complied, rolling his eyes and swearing in spanish under his breath.

When he was comfortably tucked under the covers she neared him and waved the gun at the bedpost.

“Hands here,” she said.

“Pardon me, cariña?” He asked, eyebrow raised.

She just looked at him, and produced a pair of handcuffs from under the bed.

“Oh no, you are not cuffing me, chica! Have common sense - am I not being a nice houseguest?”

“Very much so, sweetheart - just a precaution. Come on.” She patted the mattress.

“You little bitch, chica, you know you are a terrible little bitch?”

She just hummed in response, clicking the handcuffs shut.

“Sleep. You’ll be feeling like shit come morning. Wanna tell me now what you’re on?”

“I’m on unicorn horn dust and leprechaun testy hair smokes!” He yelled, a mad smile on his face, suddenly unable to control his answer towards this woman anymore.

“Ok, I tried.” She got up off the bed, “Good night.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Madness continues. Please talk to me about this story - when I search Vaas on tumblr I'm the first blog it recommends, I need others who are obsessed to come yell at me :D

Vaas woke up hoarse and sore all over, his head splitting and every movement echoing in a shivering ache along his spine.

Before falling asleep, he gave her a long inspired concert of screamed profanities and threats, until his throat felt raw and hot and his head ached.

Initially, he couldn’t remember where he was and why - the soft pillows and blankets around him, no gunshots outside, no ragga jangle or screaming, not even birds outside his window. He lifted his head off the pillow and tried to pull his hands from under it.

“Fuck,” he hoarsed out, “why am I… Fuck!”

He tried to yell, but his throat wouldn’t comply. He was coming down off whatever it was he took yesterday - was it yesterday? What day was it even? He was about to scream out in anger and agony again when the door opened and the lights came on.

Ge groaned.

“Light hurting your eyes, Sleeping Beauty?”A female voice said.

He looked up as best he could.

“Oh fuck, so I didn’t dream you?” He said, trying to sit up.

She smiled and neared the bed. She was still wearing the same pajamas, and he noticed that they were a plain beige cotton.

“No, cabrón,” she sat at the edge and he looked up at her. Bitch was beautiful, “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, fucking heavenly. Best vacation of my life!”

“Good,” She laughed, clearly unperturbed by his sarcasm. She gestured and he shifted a bit, to give her access to his wrists.

She unlocked the handcuffs and looked at Vaas pointedly as he rubbed them.

“What?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Here’s the deal,” she crossed her legs, “You’re not going anywhere from here. We’re not on Rook Island anymore, and like I said everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Yeah, that reminds me, chica,” he interrupted, “How am I not fucking dead?” 

He wanted to yell at her so much, jump up, smash her head into the headboard and run off, but he believed every word she said, his body ached all over and for some unfathomable, but no doubt idiotic reason he didn’t like the idea of hurting her too badly or leaving her just yet.

She waved her hand vaguely.

“Long story. A combination of drugs, hellishly good luck, a shitload of bribes, and me really,  _ really  _ wanting a pet.” She smiled at him.

She was beautiful, but there was an edge to her soft features - like she could go feral at any moment. He liked that.

“A pet, huh?” He leaned in ever so slightly, “Not afraid I’ll bite your hands off?”

“You’re welcome to try,” She said, “Now. Like I was saying, you’re not going anywhere, and again, if you’re so absolutely inclined - you’re welcome to try. I’m going to take care of you and everything you need, but you’re gonna have to be a good boy. I’ll let you roam free around the house, but if you misbehave - I’ll be very mean to you." 

"You'll be mean to me, chica?" Vaas asked, cocking his head.

"Very mean," she nodded, "and I know you'll be putting on your crazy tough guy act now, but honestly I'd save your energy."

She got up off the bed and went out of the room, leaving the door open for him. Soft lights were on in the lounge, inviting him in.

Vaas tried to strain his eyes and see what she was doing, but his head was still pounding dully, and his vision was a bit blurry. He groaned and got off the bed, dragging the eiderdown to the floor. He looked at it for a second and decided that she could pick it up “if she was so inclined” - and went to the door.

If he was asked to describe the room from their first encounter - he couldn’t do it very well, and he for sure wouldn’t have remembered it the way he saw it now. 

It could’ve been a lavish hunting lodge belonging to some posh dude Vaas would’ve love to shoot in the balls. The walls were wooden paneling, dark chocolate colour enveloping the space. A thick fuzzy rug lay in the middle of the spacious room, as if sort of casually thrown there at an angle. A digital fireplace crackled at the far wall, bookshelves adorning it on each side. A stereo with a collection of records, two armchairs, and a too-soft looking sofa. Three doors led to other rooms - one was a bathroom, that he remembered for sure. 

She was nowhere to be seen, and just as he was about to try the front door, or what he presumed was the front door, she appeared from one of the rooms. He gleaned a kitchen done in the same chocolate brown behind her.

She leaned on the doorframe, eyeing him.

"Hungry?"

"Ravenous," he responded and followed her into the kitchen.

Vaas sat at the kitchen island while she fried eggs and made coffee. He studied her, the way she moved, the way she did things. Her movements were very fluid, she was at ease with her body and didn't need to look to know exactly where to grab something. His mind was rushing around in an anxious train of thought, one idea grabbing onto the next and he felt irritated. Her skin looked very soft and that was one of the most irritating thoughts.

"So what's your game chica, you gonna tell me?" He asked finally, trying to ground himself in what was actually happening.

She turned, a spatula in one hand, salt shaker in the other.

“Huh?”

He chuckled.

“You move your body so well, but your mind is wandering. I said - what is your game? Why am I here?” He raised his voice slightly, as loud as he could without it affecting his head or scratchy throat.

She blinked at him for a moment and then pulled out two large, bright yellow plates from a cupboard. She served the table, put two fried eggs and a piece of toast on his plate, a cup of coffee next to it. A little pitcher of milk and a sugar bowl, and a few pieces of nuts and fruit in a little cup between their plates. She sat opposite him and cradled her face in her hands, smiling. He stared at her, anger rising by the second.

“Am I amusing to you?” He asked with barely concealed contempt.

“Quite,” She said, “Eat.”

He didn't move, so she shrugged and took up her fork and knife. After swallowing the first of the egg under his dark gaze, she looked up.

“You’re too valuable to dispatch.”

He raised an extremely dramatic eyebrow.

“Smart, resourceful, charismatic - I like you. I think your mind that is clearly not all there can be recovered, and you can be happy.”

He heard what she was saying, but he didn’t understand. He eyed the eggs - they were perfect. Round solid yolks, closer to orange than to yellow - free range. Somewhere in the back of his mind he briefly wondered how he even knew the difference. He grabbed his fork and stabbed at one of them, stuffing it whole in his mouth. He chewed on it furiously, and she giggled.

“What?!” He demanded through a mouthful.

“What did that poor egg do to you?” She asked.

He swallowed and glared.

“It’s you, not the egg! You are an infuriating woman!”

He wanted to yell at her so badly, throw his arms around - but he hurt all over still, and his throat, oh god. He eyed the coffee and pushed the cup aside.

“Tea?” She asked.

“Gonna have a tea party now, are we?”

“You’re so angry all the time, I love it. But it must be exhausting,” She got up and pulled a tin box out a cupboard, “Herbal tea will soothe that raw throat. You’re hoarse.”

While the kettle boiled he tried to outstare her. He felt like a child that was made to play with someone way smarter, her benevolent gaze on him absolutely insulting. He wanted to throw a tantrum and hurt her, but the sole thought made him feel even more like a child.

She made him herbal tea and put a tiny little bowl of honey next to the cup. The spoon was also tiny and he hated it. He hated that tiny little adorable spoon and the fact she had it.

She sipped her coffee across from him, while he glared at his tea.

“Drink it, it’ll help.” She said serenely.

She was stirring an identical tiny spoon in her own coffee cup, even though he was pretty sure she put no sugar in it. 

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you’re on, Vaas,” She said.

“Come again?” He asked, finally picking up the cup.

“The drugs, you’re obviously all hopped up. But in order to get you off them, I’ll need to know what they are. How much and how often, too.”

“You are being so incredibly fucking rude and nosy right now.” He said, genuine indignation apparent in his tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you think you’re in any position to deny me?” She asked, completely calm, “Look, I’m gonna get you clean one way or the other, but if you cooperate and tell me it’s gonna be much easier for the both of us. I can so easily give you the wrong concoction giving you all kinds of nasty side effects…”

“Concoction? What the fuck you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about getting you fucking clean, cabron,” She said, “I need those drugs out of your system if you want your mind back.”

“Ok,” He pinched the bridge of his nose in an exasperated gesture of a completely normal person that was utterly done, “First of all, why the fuck you think I need something from you? I’m not crazy, chica! You’re crazy if you think you gonna make some kind of slave from me and you’re gonna be fucking disappointed because my mind is my own!”

He raised his voice without caring about the raw scratch of his throat.

She folded her hands in her lap and hummed as if in agreement.

“Hoyt? Manipulated you into subservience. Citra? Manipulated you, used you, threw you away. The Rakyat? Betrayed you. Pirates? Ran around you like puppies out of fear and of course for all the drugs and whores you so generously provided. You’re all alone, cabron, and I know how you feel. You don’t have to like me or agree with me, and I’m not gonna keep you prisoner once you’re all better. But I hope you’ll want to stay on your own.”

He tried to filter what she was saying, but he was so fucking angry. She took him from his life, his fun, unpunished, complete freedom and stuffed him in this fucking wooden box! For what? To be her fucking science fair project? He was going to kill her. Slit her throat in her sleep, find the keys, run away, get her fucking car or boat or whatever and start again somewhere, be a king uncrowned once more.

She got up from her seat and came closer to him. He was about to snap, grab her wrist, twist it painfully until she cried out and gave him the keys to the house, told him how to leave. He was imagining how soft and silky her skin would be as he’d bruise it with his grip, when she… put her palm on his cheek.

Vaas froze. His eyes were still full of fire, but it wasn’t anger anymore. She was looking down on him, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb.

“I’ll show you where everything is when you’re ready,” She said softly and went out of the kitchen.

He sat very still.

And tried to process.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Vaas is straight-up not having a good time right now :D

Vaas sat motionless at the kitchen island, but his mind was churning and bubbling. 

The moment her soft and tender, yet calloused palm touched his face he was transfixed. There were a few things he needed to process, and he couldn’t do so without retreating entirely into himself.

She seemed to understand that even better than he himself did, for she left without so much as a “What’s wrong?” and closed the door silently behind her.

He stared into space, unseeing. He tried to grasp at one thought at a time to dissect it methodically, before starting on the other thirty-five screaming in his ears.

Right, right, what the motherfuck… Ok.

Ok. Fuck. Fuck! He thought he screamed it out loud and he even felt his throat throb in pain, but he only very violently thought it.

She took him, put him here. That took some serious balls. That woman had balls like no fucking man he met on his fucking pungent island. She is strong, resilient. She’s smart. She clearly wants something from him, he didn’t believe in people just wanting good for him - she couldn't just be wanting to “restore his mind” to him. Fucking bullshit.

She said they're not on Rook Island anymore, so she moved him somewhere. He couldn’t remember what exactly happened with him and Jason - he remembered the stupid puppy, blindly led by the cock by his whore sister. He knew Jason wanted his blood, and he wanted to knock him down a bit too - to take Citra’s precious toy from her. He remembered the ceremonial knife. And then… nothing. Then it was her, blurry and calm as he opened his eyes, high off his ass, still tripping from the insane amounts of coke he took before running headfirst into Jason.

How did she save him? What the fuck did she mean by “combination of drugs, luck and bribes” - who did she bribe or drug? What the fuck is her deal?

He had to make his peace with the fact that unless she specifically told him the details, he’d never find out. And something told him she wouldn’t share that story easily - although he would surely fucking try to convince her. 

All right, ok. Moving on… He’s trapped. Sort of. He can fucking escape. Of course he can - he’s Vaas! She’s just some jumped up little chica that thinks she can keep him against his will. His will. His. Will.

What does he want? What did he ever really want?

Freedom. That’s all. That’s all he ever craved, ever needed, so much his teeth hurt and his eyes watered - he couldn’t stand it when he was told around, bossed around, betrayed, sold off, pushed to the side! Who the fuck did they all think they were, treating him like that? Flesh and blood, a human being, a vessel full of feelings and thoughts and they treated him like fodder, like a puppet for their games - so of course he retaliated. Of course he became stronger, faster, angrier than everyone, more cruel, more bloodlusty, FREER.

She wanted to take his freedom from him. For some fucking reason this little girl thinks she can keep him, wants to keep him. But she… She said… Fuck. Fuck!

Can she really clean him up? Drugs are fucking fun, no doubt about that, but they cloud his mind, his body becomes sluggish and useless when he should be running, rushing, bursting out of the confines they all build around him, be free! With drugs, fuck, his mind is free, always free - but his body, his person that everyone seems to want to claim. Her - no, she won’t claim him no fucking way. He will let her do her fucking voodoo magic or whatever the fuck, clean him up. She will help him get the freedom he wants. And then? Who knows. Maybe he’ll gut her like a fish. Like a free fish.

Ok, ok, fucking head keeps fucking screaming at itself, and he’s trying to make it quiet. When she touched him, she touched his face so tenderly and so simply - he got aroused. He wanted her to touch him more. And he hated it. He immediately rejected the possibility of being stirred by this gentle, softly spoken creature. Not a fucking chance in fucking hell. But he'd see where she goes with this whole fucking thing she's trying - might be fun. If it's not he can always bash her head in or stab her with the kitchen utensils that are so carelessly left lying around. Like she fucking believes he won't do anything, like she fucking thinks she knows him.

*

Vaas walked back into the lounge banging the kitchen door as hard as he could, regretting it immediately as it reverberated through his skull. 

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath.

She was sitting in a lotus position in one of the chairs, a book in her lap, the same plain pajamas still on her.

“Head?” She asked.

He eyed her angrily, eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah.”

“Must’ve been some coke,” she mused, closing the book.

He felt a surge of anger and was about to scream at her, but he guessed she’d just see it as another coming down symptom. She’d be right, he was quick to anger normally, but after a good party night, it was all hell loose-pirates hiding from the sound of his footsteps anger.

He sunk into the armchair opposite hers and glowered at her from under his eyebrows.

“It’s mostly coke. Strong stuff, expensive. Weed sometimes, like a few times a month.”

“X?” She asked.

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Acid?”

He exhaled dramatically.

“Only twice in my fucking life.”

She made a face resembling some sort of impressed look and rolled her shoulders. He noticed how her jugular stood out against her skin when she strained her neck.

“Anxiety?”

“What?” 

“Anxiety?” She repeated, unfased.

“What is this, a fucking shrink office now?”

“Vaas, answer the questions, it’s important.”

He huffed, crossed his arms on his chest.

“Yeah, fucking anxiety!”

She nodded.

“Depression?”

“Chica, what is your fucking name?” He said instead of giving her any more details about himself.

“Why?”

“Well, we’re getting so fucking well acquainted here, you asking me all kinds of intimate fucking questions, and I don’t even know what to fucking call you. So,” He gestured towards her, palms together, “A name, if you please.”

She looked down and then back up at him.

“Jane.”

“Jane,” He repeated, “Is that your real name?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it fucking matters!” He bellowed and regretted it at once. He coughed violently and jumped up from the armchair at her annoyingly concerned expression, “I’m fucking sitting in your fucking house with no way of fucking leaving, you want to poke around my brain or whatever the fuck, and I need your real fucking name!”

She looked slightly scared and concerned. He was glad he scared her, she seemed too smooth and well put together for his liking.

“Yes, that’s my name. I promise.”

“Thank you!” He curtseyed comically in front of her, “And now! Yes! Depression - check! Anxiety - check! Anger management issues - you fucking tell me, Jane!”

She smiled a little and he almost snarled. She was back to her composed self.

“You ever been on antidepressants before?” She asked.

“No,” he said, sauntering up to the bookshelf for a peak, “no shrinks, no meds.”

She hummed. The shelves were mostly classics.

There was an Isabel Allende he hasn’t read before and he remembered where it stood for future reference.

“Ok, thank you for sharing all of that. I’ll bring you your, um, medicine very soon. Now,” She stood up, “House tour.”

He turned to face her, sarcastic eyebrow at the ready.

“I could murder you with a kitchen knife in ten different ways."

“Try it, could be fun,” She said, “This is the lounge, as you can see. Read and listen to whatever you like, just please put the books and records in the same places you took them.”

“Why?” He asked.

“Because I said so,” She pointed to the bathroom door, “Bathroom. Anything you need, toothbrush, towels, toiletries, fluffy slippers, whatever the fuck. Hot water. Kitchen over there, as you know - lots of cups and plates, fridge fully stocked. Tell me if you need anything specific or if you’re allergic to something. The last door is my bedroom - don’t go in there. That’s the exit, it’s locked, don’t try.”

She looked at him expectantly, arms folded.

“Oh, thank you, my lady,” He bowed mockingly. “For this fucking kingdom.”

“Don’t mention it. Ok, I gotta bounce.”

“What? Bounce, fucking bounce where?”

“Stuff to do, cabron,” She disappeared behind her bedroom door but kept talking, “There’s lasagna in the fridge, if it’s gone before I come back there’s a bunch of stuff you can cook.”

“Excuse me, I have to cook?”

She reappeared sporting a pair of camouflage cargo pants, a matching tank top and heavy hiking boots. Her hair was tied up at the back of her head.

“Well yeah, when I’m not here, or when I am but I can’t be bothered.” She grabbed a rucksack from inside her bedroom and made for the door, “See ya.”

Vaas was about to protest - but what was he going to say? He was glad she was leaving. Fuck her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm writing like the wind :) Come talk to me about this story :)

Vaas was angry beyond belief.

She left hours ago and he was restless - angered even more by the fact that he wanted her to come back, if only to start yelling at her and demanding release. To grab her by the hair and ram her head into the wall until she unlocked that fucking door.

He already saw that Jane was a headstrong, stubborn bitch, and whatever it was she thought she was doing - she wasn’t going to back down from it easily. But neither would he.

He stalked around the house, disrupting things. His head pounded and he felt achy, feverish, nauseous. He could feel his blood whoomp-whoomping through his temples from every little movement he made. He pulled books from the shelves, examined them, and dropped them on the floor. He loathed to admit that she had good taste, and that he found a few of his favourites. Many books had sticky notes in them and he had to squash the desire to see what she marked in The Old Man and The Sea. 

The books made him even angrier. They were perfect little shards of different worlds and he wanted none of that - he needed to go back to his beach, to his jungle, to the blood and the grit and the hate. He needed a gun. A weapon. Anything. Her full ashtray sat on the coffee table, overflowing with thin butts. He grabbed it and hurled it at the walls above the fireplace - it shattered, heavy glass flying everywhere and Vaas whooped in delight. immediately regretting it, the rich sound of shattering glass and his voice reverberating in pain. 

“Fucking bitch!” He howled. His throat was still raw, but he didn’t care anymore. When did he care?

He stomped into the kitchen and started tearing open cupboard after cupboard. The two beautiful yellow plates they ate from flew to the wall and exploded - the burst of colour made him happy. Two cups of the same colour - boom! A large black glass bowl - boom! He flinched from every sound, but his pain and discomfort made him even more violent. He wanted to, needed to punish himself for feeling pain with more pain. 

There was nothing of use in the cutlery drawer - only forks and dull rounded dinner knives. Of course, he could always stab her with a fork - but that would be plan B. A knife would be best, but not one of these butter ones. He emptied the utensils onto the floor and broke every plate he could find, very casually dropping them one after the other. He opened the fridge and froze in front of it. There wasn't a lot in it - eggs, milk, bread. But what stunned him was a plate on the middle shelf, covered with a glass domed lid, and under it - fresh pieces of pineapple.

He loved pineapples. It was just this stupid thing, but he loved them - and he always had some stashed somewhere. How did she?.. Why?

He grabbed the plate and lifted the lid - fresh and juicy. He put one piece in his mouth and savoured the taste, before rolling right back into rage and hurling the plate with it’s delicious contents onto the floor.

“Fuck you! You think you fucking know me?”

He flew out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. The oval mirror above the sink glared at him with his incensed face, and Vaas shook with fury. He smashed his fist into the glass, again and again, until the middle of it was nothing but a silvery, bloody paste, his knuckles covered in shards and torn skin.

He grabbed the neatly stacked towels under the sink and smeared them in his blood, throwing them in the tub. Next, Vaas opened the tall cupboard where he expected to see more towels, but mostly it was toiletries, washing powder, toothpaste, and right on the eye level - a can of hair mousse. The cheapest crap, a big jar - just the kind he used. His coarse hair did stick up from all the grime and sweat constantly in it, but secretly he did give it a bit of help with product.

His kind. 

He grabbed the plastic jar, opened it, and emptied the entirety of the purple goop on the heap of towels in the tub.

Numb from anger and astonishment he went back to the kitchen, grabbed a fork from the floor, and sat in the corner behind the door, bleeding, shaking from rage and withdrawal, and waiting.

*

Jane sat in a boat, legs crossed, smearing the fifth layer of sunscreen on herself. She burned like a tender crouton if not completely covered up or slathered in SPF 500, and she preferred not to become a crispy piece of bacon by the time she was done fishing.

She caught a few worthy fish that would stock the freezer for a while, but she didn't feel like going back yet. It was getting late though, and she wondered if Vaas completely destroyed the house yet. She hoped he wouldn’t break out just yet - but even if he did, he couldn’t leave their tiny island anyway.

She forgot to take a book, something she regretted dearly, but no matter. She could recite The Old Man and The Sea practically by heart, and she remembered all the best parts just now. In her head, it was Charlton Heston’s voice narrating the story, a perfect fit for Santiago. 

The herbs she collected for Vaas were safely tucked away in her cooler, wrapped in a dark cloth. She dove a few times before setting up the fishing rod and got the needed algae, the last ingredient for his detox. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it would help. He would hate her for the pain and intrusion, of course, but it will all be worth it.

She wondered when those meds were going to arrive. She’d need to take the boat to the biggest island nearby, to go into town and check her P.O. - probably in two days. She counted in her head yet again, and that seemed like the date they’d arrive. She was only guessing what he’d need from his symptoms and everything she knew about him - but it was a highly educated, involved guess. It would work.

*

Jane trudged through the underbrush towards the house dragging a bucket of weakly thrashing fish with her. She knew Vaas was bound to destroy at least one of the rooms in the house, and she was ready for it. But she was also ready to show him that she won't tolerate that. She smiled to herself. She knew how fucked up this situation was. She kept him captive, just like he used to keep his slaves. She was doing to him what he did to others, but she wasn't sure if he was taking it seriously.

She knew how hard it would be, to break him open and fix whatever went wrong inside, but she wanted it badly.

She knew some of the broken screws in her head matched Vaas’ and the pull she felt towards him from the first time she saw him on Rook island, hidden in the bushes, hunting - and he, glorious and covered in blood and grime, skinning a boar, cackling at something with his pirates. He never knew she was there, on the island - her interference in his affairs was substantial but so imperceptible. She guided Jason softly, giving him pointers through her contacts in the Rakyat villages. She opened his eyes to Citra’s madness and saved him from falling prey to her spell. Jane knew, of course, of Citra’s brother, but she never saw him or was that much interested - her main priority was to live peacefully alone on her island, and occasionally to play god, thwarting Citra’s plans. And when her eyes first landed on Vaas, she instantly knew - he was completely and utterly broken and insane, and she wanted him, if only just to make him better. Her interference into Jason’s affairs and her saving the boy from Citra also ultimately saved Vaas and she was grateful to providence for her own nosiness.

She kept thinking about his various addictions and problems with which they would have to battle. He must be in terrible withdrawal right about now and it would linger for a few days, flaring his already volatile temper. But she could handle him, and if she couldn’t - she could always leave until he cooled off. Though she hoped it wouldn’t come to that, in the hours of terrible cramps, dryness, agitated moods and spikes of hatred he would need support. 

She smiled.

Her little monster.

*

He sat huddled in the corner of the kitchen, trying to concentrate on anything but the searing heat running through his body. He felt as if his entire skin was covered with blisters, he wanted to tear at them, but there was nothing to tear at and vigorous scratching brought no relief. His bones ached. He alternated between stretching his legs out and trying to relax, to rolling himself into a tight little ball, screwing his eyes shut, and flexing every muscle he could control. It helped for a second before he started to shake again, and either the heat or the cold gripped him like gigantic clawed hands.

Vaas wanted to scream, but his throat was raw again from yelling at walls hours previously, waiting for her with a fork at the ready. He wanted so much to stab at her skin and draw blood, tear at her clothes and grab her hair, ram her head into the wooden walls and press her face into them, press her whole towards the wall and tell her that she did not call the shots, that he was king and he would bring her to her knees - but the tremors in his body said otherwise.

“Little bitch,” he growled to himself, concentrating on a piece of a plate a few feet away from him, “Thinks she can play with me?” 

He was about to force himself to his knees and then try to stand up for a glass of water, or five, when he heard the heavy door rumble, jingle, and creak. He felt a stab of excitement and tried to run to the door, like a dog awaiting its master- only the dog’s a wolf and its master is a little bitch - but he crumpled on the floor in an even more pathetic position than before.

He couldn’t remember where that stupid fork was, but in any case, he doubted he could swing it to stab some spaghetti, let alone a perfectly capable human. 

He heard her sigh and chuckle. “What's funny?” He asked in his head, unable to crack open his dry lips.

Her footsteps approached the kitchen, a sound of gentle splashing accompanying her.

“Awww.” He heard he coo and with a tremendous effort lifted his eyes to her.

“Did you tire yourself out destroying the house?" She said with a weirdly affectionate smile. He hated it.

He shuddered.

She knitted her eyebrows and put the bucket she was holding on the kitchen island.

“Withdrawal hit you bad, huh, cabron?" She asked, crouching beside him. She put her hand on his forehead and in spite of himself Vaas leaned into the touch - her hand was cool and soft, bringing instant relief to his burning head.

“Come on," She grabbed him and helped him up, while he clung to her, cursing himself and her softness inwardly, “To bed.”

She led him to his room and helped him huddle in the middle of the bed in a cocoon of blankets.

“Better?" She asked.

“No,” He croaked, barely finding his voice.

She frowned, but as if she was saying "Yeah, I know.”

“Cold compress?” She asked, gently stroking his face. He would never, in a billion years admit to himself how much better the simple gesture of affection and care relieved his agony. He couldn’t speak another word, so he just looked at her, his eyes feverish and oily.

She stood up silently and disappeared. He tried to concentrate on something in the room, but his head kept spinning, his tongue was like a piece of sandpaper and he could barely breathe. But she was back and he would feel better soon and then he could bash her head against a wall all he wanted. 

She came back with a bowl and sat back down near him.

“Poor baby," She said softly wringing out the handkerchief and applying it to his forehead, the blessed cold making him first shiver, and then relax,"You know, I think I’m gonna shoot Hoyt in the face.”

His eyes shot to hers.

She adjusted the rag.

“If it wasn’t for him you’d never get addicted to this crap, right, cabron?”

He looked at her pale face for a few moments, considering. He just didn’t get it, why did she need him? Was she masochistic?

With her face the last thing he thought of, Vaas drifted off into a fretful sleep.

*

Vaas woke up in what felt like three seconds, feeling clammy and weak. His head still ached, but the pain moved down to the back of his head and only dully undulated, instead of screeching through him. 

He tried to get his bearings and remember how he got into bed. Righ. Jane. She came back and dragged him into his room and put a cold compress on his forehead.

He opened his eyes just a crack, but no bright light attacked him and he looked around. His eyes hurt like a whore, moving them around was agony, but he didn’t really need to - she sat on the floor with a book, the back of her head ten centimeters away from his face. Her hair looked dirty, but soft and she smelled faintly of sweat.

He croaked a cough, and she whirled around.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” she said, “finally awake.”

She got up, put her book aside and touched his forehead.

“Fever’s gone,” she nodded, “How are you feeling?”

Vaas stared at her. How do you think, you stupid bitch?

“You look at me with unbridled hate, so I’m gonna guess “better”,” she said, and pulled away his blankets, “come on, I’ll help you get to the bathroom.”

“Fuck off,” He said, in a gravely, barely-there voice. He clambered off the bed, his body rubbery and went in the direction of the door.

“Right,” He heard her say behind him, “Suit yourself.”

She walked past him and into the kitchen, letting him get on on his own. He stared into her back for a moment, hoping she might burst into flames. He did need a shower and a piss after all, might as well go to the bathroom.

He slammed the bathroom door behind him, instantly regretting it, hearing it echo in his tender head. Fuck. Fucking withdrawal. He needed a fucking fix.

Water. Soap Too cold. Hotter. That’s better. Ahhhhhhhhh….. Nice. Water is nice. Goddammit.

He sat at the bottom of the tub, unable to stand for long, and relaxed under the stream. He wanted to get out and - what? Have a pleasant conversation with her, have a cup of tea?

He needed to figure her out. He needed to understand why she needed him there. But most of all he needed to understand why he was beginning to feel ok about it.

Shit.


End file.
